[center][h1][color=708090]𝕭𝖆𝖚𝖇𝖑𝖊, 𝕭𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕳𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖆𝖍 [/color][/h1][/center]


	Sonarlis was a mess. Fire. Screaming townsfolk. Animals wailing. Blood. Death. Dragons. The stench of roasting flesh, wood and fabrics. And the feeling of something epic taking place, as if he was, once again, part of something really, really big. Boris was very happy. Not so much because of all that death and destruction, or even the sense that something very important was taking place, but because - as the very honourably looking dragon took up position nearby - the little Girl, Hannah, slipped her hand into his again. She liked Boris a lot, Boris could tell. He smiled kindly down at her. She was so small, such a fragile little thing, that her hand was practically raised overhead to keep hold of his. But it was pretty soon after taking his hand that her own attention was taken, and it directed Boris to events taking place in the sky.
 
Boris looked. He smiled. He watched, expression first overcome by familiarity, because even though the person was too high in the sky to make out properly, he knew who it was. It was that other little girl he had recently met. She was up there with the very mean dragons, and she was doing amazing stuff. Plus, she was flying, and that made Boris smile even more. It wasn’t the first time he had seen a human fly, but he found it fun anyway. 
    
Eyes twinkling with delight, he watched the spectacle like a child looking up at a rollercoaster during his first ever trip to an amusement park. Soon afterwards, as the final mean dragon fell from the sky, he grinned down at Hannah who was now holding a mutual expression of excitement, and told her, 'I sure do wish I had wings, don’t you, little miss?' Regardless of all the chaos and death, her childlike disposition shown with a giggle. 

They both then continued to watch, and the honourable dragon too, as the flying girl descended quickly and landed by the stables. Boris frowned, thinking that if it had of been him flying around like that, he would have roosted on the roof – like a rooster! 

He chuckled.

The girls comment, “Hey, uh, either of you a natural with animals? Cause it would be great if you could calm her down and then I'll be on my merry way", got nothing at all from Boris. He continued staring at her, but now in a kind of dumb fashion while Hannah receded, her grip on Boris fastening as she tucked herself away and peeked out from behind his tree-trunk thigh. Her sudden apprehension was however not for fear of the other girl, but instead on account of the dragon as it turned in all its majestic appeal upon its gruesome perch to face Erised. 

With head held high, its unconscientious dignity was undeniable, enough to strike a sense of admiration in anyone, like some variety of transcending virtue. Despite all that had taken place, it was in that moment that even the townsfolk slowed in their terror and started to look back to observe the wondrous sight of a species – nay, a legend, once thought of as extinct, now come to life in all its heart-thumping prowess. 

Bauble, an Arist dragon still of youthful age, stood at around three meters at the shoulders. Like all Arist, he had six main extremities; four legs and a set of wings, though his front feet clearly doubles as hands with opposable talon grips. His scales seemed to shimmer and change colour like the always changing reflection of a water’s surface, projecting shades of his surroundings in contrast to the delinquent slate-grey pigment of his scales. His wings too held a similar instability in their colouring, though for the moment they were tucked away and flattened to the contours of his ridged back. With the colour of his short, youthful jaw horns fluxing from blood-red to altering shades of dull blue, and the dark of his eyes murky with mists of cherry-pink, he stared down his nose at Erised. 

The visual contact with Erised lasted but an intense moment. He seemed to be reading her. Glaring right into her soul – before one eyebrow perked up and his body shifted to turn and look away. He descended the dead dragon and walked just a few purposeful steps towards the burning ruins of town. He stopped. Like a cat catching sight of a sneaky mouse, his head lowered, eyes narrowing, seemingly observant of everything around him as a resonating tone, like that of a dull hum, caused everything around to tremble. Even the air seemed to vibrate. His torso inflated. His nostrils flared. His wings ruffles – and then at once, as though he were the center of an explosion, a shockwave expelled from his body as his torso deflated. It swept across the city, through everyone and across the land, and changed everything it made contact with: The fires were extinguished. The carcasses of the dead dragons, even the one that lay mangled far away on the mountainside, turned to dust and disseminated on contact with the wave of energy. In the following instant everything was calm, like the burst of power had in it a drug to subdue all life, like every problem in the world had been cast aside, as though the universe itself had been calmed. Including Erised’s horse. 

All was still. 

Boris in that same moment was struck with a subdued feeling. He felt light on his feet, his thoughts clear of any trouble or concern. It reminded him of the effects that alcohol had on him. He even swayed a little as Hannah’s grip loosened. She too was taken by a sense of overwhelming submission. 
 
In the short time to follow, as the calmed and awestruck townsfolk began to gather in watch from a distance, Bauble turned back, glanced auspiciously at Erised's now calm horse, shifted to concentrate his virtue on Erised, and then he spoke. Yet not with a voice born of his mouth or throat. His mouth remained closed. The words were undoubtedly emanating from his person - like telepathy, but aloud, vocal; a deep reverberation that took the various forms needed to create words. It was like listening to the deep notes of a base guitar if it could speak: 

'Your aura is strange, Eri…. I do not know what you are, but you seem too arrogant for your own good.' He paused, tilting his head in deep thought and further observation of her. 'So many colours. But so much grey.' His countenance than shifted to indicate a change of topic. 'Though the king is no more than the filth that accumulates at the corner of a troll’s mouth, he is nevertheless dangerous. He will be after you now. He will come. For you. His men. His witch whores. Their magic’s. Be aware.' 

While Erised would not have been familiar with the audible language he spoke - the deep tones of his audio present only for the sake of others listening - Bauble transcended his meaning past the physical for her. It came through seemingly submerged beneath the vibrations of his words, yet in the very clear form of distinct and finely tuned levels of excitations, impressions, and depressions - refined notes of desire; feelings; emotions - what to Bauble was spiritual understandings, [i]language[/i], or even what could have been considered nothing but variations of energy, but a language that to Erised would have been just as easily understood as the spoken words were to the others listening.  

Meanwhile, [color=lemonchiffon]Haila[/color], watching on from her position beyond the town, would have received the same message, only she would have heard an additional message spoken at a variance to be heard by her ears alone: 

'Don’t be foolish, Haila. Listen to your brethren. Stay back. Humans cannot be trusted. Only family.' 

At the same time, and although the now subdued townsfolk were listening on, it was not the message to Erised that they heard. They did not hear what Haila heard, either. They heard their own singular message from the Arist: 

'You have seen me now. I will not hide from your eyes any longer. Spread the word if you must. No doubt you will. But know that I intend your kind no harm. For what good is a whip without understanding? You know not what you do, and I will not hold ignorance accountable.'

Once the first range of messages were delivered – Boris and Hannah, so far hearing only the message to Erised – Bauble shifted his glare to Hannah, and sending forth vibrations on a level that only they and Erised could hear, said, 'The king lusts for you. He lusts for the great power you yield, as he no less lusts for your flesh in the most despicable way. You will need protection. You will need to hide. Or kill him.' 

As he finished speaking, Bauble changed. His entire body took on the many pigments of his surroundings. He was seen as nothing more than vapour, a mirage of his former self as he headed towards the tree line to leave. 
 
Boris was impressed by all that the dragon had done, mostly by the way he just made the dead dragons disappear, but he didn’t pretend to understand what the dragon had said to Hannah. Not exactly, anyway. But he received a notion of what the dragon might have meant, and that notion wasn’t good at all. He was angered by it. He would have spoken out right there and then, said something to show just how much he desired to protect Hannah - had Hannah herself not spoken up before he got the chance. 

'That’s not even true!' She spat, jerking her hand from Boris’s grip as she stepped boldly towards the retreating dragon, 'That king… THAT king!' She raised her voice, quivering with emotion, 'Doesn’t matter who he is – because he won’t get me. He won’t get me, DRAGON! I’m not scared at all, not of you, and not of any king, either! Because my dad will kill him, you just wait and see!!'

The faint form of Bauble paused to turn its head back and regard the child, poising motionless long enough to say, 'I have seen your vision. Your father is too far from here to come.' 

'STOP!' She screamed.

Bauble did not stop, he did not regard her again. He said nothing and continued on his way. Hannah looked back to Boris. She looked to Erised. Her expression now one of destitution, like a child abandoned, not knowing which way to turn. 
 
'Please, help me….' She began to cry, tears welling in her pleading eyes, jaw shaking in raw trepidation, 'I don’t know where I am….'  


[hr]


[center][h1][color=0072bc]𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝕻𝖆𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊 
𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖔𝖞𝖆𝖑 𝕮𝖎𝖙𝖞[/color][/h1][/center]


	After receiving the bad news from his wizard, King Eor fetched a concubine. Across half the castle grounds and up into his concubines bed chamber he dragged the teen naked by her hair, tied her to the bed, disrobed himself, and then proceeded to whip her legs with a plaited leather rope. With each stroke she screamed for mercy and got none. Every strike became harder, more vicious, increasing the kings excitement until her thighs were torn, swollen and purple. Her screams had become mute. But everybody knew. His guards. His servants. His wife. His royal counsel. They were not deaf. The castle became quiet as all that remained to be heard was the continuing lashes against tendered, blooded flesh echoing thought the kingdom. 

Eventually he had to stop, not from lack of will, but just because he no longer had the physical stamina to continue. He was sweating, exhausted as he stared down at the half-conscious girl – her breath wheezing - his own breath laboured as he pushed out words with each exhale; 

'Arist… do not… [i]live[/i]… and alas they live….' His rage, so incensed, appeared to almost pop his eyes from their sockets as he continued; 'They humiliated… your king. You hear me… wench? They humiliated… [i]me[/i]….' He wanted to give her one more lash of the rope, but his arm was too heavy to respond. 'That… is what they did…. That barbarian… that flying bitch… the arist…. They will... they will pay…. They will all be killed. And I will have… that little whore… to myself… her… her power… her untainted flesh… it will all be…. Mine.'

As yet another tear of so many broke away from her eye, the young concubine forsook her own life to reply to the king in a whisper:
 
'The God of life is just. You will perish in great pain.' 

As blood flowed from a new gash in the girls neck and the last spark of life escaped the windows to her soul, the king left the bedchamber without first dressing himself, and descended to the basement where he met with his wizard once again. The wizard stood to greet his king, but kept his eyes to the floor as not to view the kings’ nakedness.
 
'Forget the dragons,' announced the King, 'it is time to do things the old fashioned way!'


[hr]


[center][i][color=000000][b][h1]Jack[/h1][/b][/color][/i][/center]


	The three moons were unreal, in any sense of the word. Well, the whole world was, needless to say, fantastic – but the moons this night, they added such an enchanting essence that it felt like he and Cheryl were galloping upon the spawn of a supernatural steed through a high-fantasy world created by CGI in Hollywood studios. It was overwhelming. Beautiful. Frightening. 

Jack was a good deal taller than his companion, which meant that he had a good view all round, even to the front where he could peer down the road, over Cheryl’s head, but at the same time - despite the surrounding wonders - being crunched up behind this odd individual made the whole situation a tad awkward. Fortunately, Jack didn’t really get put off by the standard human feelings of discomfort, or even fears. He recognised them for what they were and set them aside, so it wasn’t long before the awkwardness faded like all emotions that weren’t fed and nurtured. Though remaining alert and on guard in this alien world, he relaxed well enough and enjoyed the ride. 

Overall, he didn’t speak, and didn’t find the need to. It was what it was, at least for now. When not admiring the view, and when not suppressing the genital response to a bumpy ride, his mind was deep in thought, reflecting on the events taken place: The sword, the old hag he had met, the blacksmith who apparently didn’t even forge his sword but was told to give it to Jack anyway. And then there were these powers? And visions? All these new abilities he now seemed to have – what the fuck was all that about? There were so many things that made little sense, yet he knew that somehow it would all piece together in the end. Life was like that. Of course, the one thing that plagued his thoughts the most was Hannah; the vision he had back at the blacksmiths, the giant man she was with, the dragons, the burning town. His daughter had been there …or was going to be there. Somehow. In some way. And in a way, regardless of needing to keep moving and following the instruction of what information was being provided thus far, it felt like he was moving away from the only connection he had made with her since arriving in this world. It felt wrong, like seeing your child waiting on the side of the road in the shady side of town, but driving away without picking her up. 

It wasn’t until a good half hour into the journey with Cheryl that Jack, seeing that the three moons were no doubt getting lower in the sky, finally broke the silence:

'I’d say it’s gonna be getting about as dark as a bears hibernating ass soon. And I’m getting tired. I don’t think I’ve slept in two days. Probably best we stop when the moons sleep. I won’t be trusting this place in the dark. And another thing….' He continued speaking, even though he felt himself to be saying too much, 'Does the name "Hag", as in "old Hag", mean anything special around here? Maybe a witch? The blacksmith mentioned one to me, apparently my sword came from one. I also saw her, the hag, right before I received a vision of my daughter in Sonarlis. It might have been the past, maybe the future. Don’t know. But I know she’s been there. Hannah. Don’t know how I saw what I saw, just that I saw it.' He was hoping the description of the vision would ring a bell with Cheryl. 'There were dragons attacking. The town was on fire. Hannah was being protected by a big dumb looking bastard of a man. And there was a dragon being referred to as… uh, Artist? Arist? Something like that. If that means anything to you as well?' 

Jack felt he had misplaced his words. Like he shouldn’t have been so forthcoming with Cheryl in that moment – or even that he should have spoken up at all - but hoped at least the description would pay off in some way. He tucked back a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. Now that he had expressed it all in words, he feared for his daughter’s life more than ever. 

Not that anything he had just said mattered much anymore. Every word seemed to have gone to waste the instant he saw someone standing on the road ahead.

It was a young woman, maybe in her early twenties - not standing in the middle of the road, but to the side enough to allow them passage. She looked a mess. Short, thin, slouched and grubby, like some sort of feral forest dweller. She was dressed in a sleeveless rough spun tunic, her light shoulder-length hair frayed and tangled. Her hands were loose, open, empty, no visible weapons on her person, no apparent baggage. No shoes. She stood still, only her head turned slowly as she watched them approach, and gave an exaggerated wink clear enough for them both to see as they passed by. 

Jack looked back, curious, and admittedly a little spooked.
 
She was not pursuing. 

‘Weird-ass feral.’